To Sow in Anger
by ImmortalTrio
Summary: Complete! Duncan MacLeod meets a former student of Methos'... and truths are revealed.
1. Default Chapter

The following story grew out of a challenge issued by _historygirl _on the Official Highlander bulletin board. Namely:

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Challenge # 1 

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is as follows: 

An immortal shows up in town, a friend of Methos but not one we've seen before. This immortal encounters MacLeod before being properly introduced. How does MacLeod deal with this unknown immortal and what is the fallout? 

This story should be completed within twelve (12) posts.

I, _elle-nora'_, answered the challenge with a title and Chapter 1. _Bladelover_ answered with Chapter 2 and the two of us became so interested in where we were going with the story that although we were not in contact with one another, we kept adding until we got to Chapter 9. At that point we began corresponding as to what we needed to do next to bring the story to a satisfying conclusion.

Since I had written Chapter 9... I could not follow with Chapter 10... and we enlisted _historygirl _to write that chapter so that _Bladelover_ could write Chapter 11 and I could finish the story with Chapter 12. Readers were pleased with the results.

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Bladelover and _historygirl_ were at the time co-writing their story _The Contest_, and I was working on other pieces. We recently decided to share this story with the readers here, and ask for comments.

We do not own any canon character mentioned in this story... but we do admit to being a little obsessed with them. Kendall Crane is entirely our creation... as is Johann Meinhoff.

Enjoy!

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ImmortalTrio

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Highlander: _To Sow in Anger_

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Chapter 1 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

Paris was... as always... Paris. Smelly... brightly lit... and filled with Parisians. 

Kendall Crane had seen it all before. "There really is nothing new under the sun any more... at least not for a six hundred and fifty seven year old immortal," he thought. 

Kendall shifted his backpack and continued his saunter up the _Avenue de Victor Hugo_ in search of the hostel he liked to use. For the last fifty-six years he had been backpacking across the world and avoiding challenges as his friend and teacher Adam Benjamin had once taught him. 

"Keep a low profile, Kendall, if you wish to keep your head," Benjamin had told him long ago. So far... Kendall had managed. He looked to be about twenty, long brown hair... currently in a ponytail, and a bit of a beard... His brown eyes cautiously surveyed the landscape as he walked and shifted up and down the avenue as he watched people's faces as he passed them by. 

Recently... a mortal had been paying far too much attention to him. Kendall had noted it... and left Italy behind in a hurry. Then the mortal had shown up in Spain. That had set alarms off and he knew that someone was following him, but as yet... he felt no immortal presence. 

Obviously he'd gotten the attention of someone... and that someone had him watched. Kendall did not like being the object of anyone's watching. At least when he challenged someone... 

He looked around startled. The buzz went off in his head with a sudden clang and clamor. Across the street he saw him... dark hair, tall man, muscular, and he was staring at Kendall darkly. 

Kendall nodded and walked on... wondering if this was a coincidence and fearing it wasn't. A block later... he felt it again and looking up saw the other immortal... his arms around two large parcels... following him and making progress... growing closer and closer. 

Kendall ducked into an alleyway and waited... his sword already in his hands. The other passed by the entrance and then backed up and stared in at him. 

He slowly joined Kendall in the darkened alley, swiftly placing his packages on a nearby stack of crates. He drew his own sword... a _katana_ Kendall noted and mentally shifted his planned attack to allow for the way that sword could be used. In reality he didn't move at all. 

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!" the other immortal said evenly. 

"I'm Kendall Crane..." 

"This may not be a good place or good time for this." 

Kendall snorted, "Never is MacLeod... Never is. But you follow me... and I respond."

"I wasn't following you... I was just..." 

"Walking down the same street in the same direction?" Kendall's skepticism showed with his words. 

MacLeod lowered his sword. "I have no quarrel with you if you have none with me. We can just... pass by." 

Kendall nodded. "Sounds good to me. If... and that is a big if... If you are not the immortal who's had a certain mortal following me." 

MacLeod's eyes widened. "You've noticed a mortal following you?" 

Kendall nodded. "I feel like I'm being watched by someone. I don't like the feeling." 

MacLeod sheathed his sword within his coat. "Tell me about it," he said lightly, with a small smile. 

"You're being followed as well?" 

MacLeod nodded and backed away. "These days... many of us are. Take care Kendall Crane!" MacLeod picked up his parcels and continued on his way. 

Kendall breathed a sigh of relief. "Another challenge averted." But if a number of them were being followed... he needed to know more about this... Perhaps Benjamin might know if he were in Paris. Kendall hoped so... although he knew his teacher was often in other places. 

The last time he'd seen him was a few years ago in Tibet. He'd said something then about Paris... something disparaging... something that had made Kendall think that his teacher had been here recently and might return. 

Well... Kendall planned to leave a message at the tavern on _Rue Lumiere_. If Adam Benjamin was in Paris... he likely still frequented what he called "one of the best taverns in Paris." Kendall would leave a message... and then hope to hear from his mentor. 

Perhaps together... they might solve the question of who was following him... who wanted him dead. 

Kendall leaned over and picked up his backpack. As he exited the alley... he was immediately scanning the faces of the passers-by... wondering how soon before his mysterious mortal follower would show up once more.


	2. 2

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Chapter 2 of 12

(_Bladelover_)

Duncan stepped onto the barge and tried to negotiate opening the door with the two parcels still in his arms. Suddenly detecting the presence of another immortal, he spun around, catching one of the bags on the doorknob and spilling its contents at his feet. 

The other bag soon joined the first as Duncan reached for his sword; a motion quickly aborted once he saw that the other immortal was Methos. The older immortal's eyes were lit with mischief at the sight before him. 

"Boo," he said matter-of-factly. 

Duncan was already gathering up the fallen groceries to put back into the bags. "You could give me a hand, you know." 

Moving closer but making no effort to help, Methos kept his hands in his pockets and said, "It just amuses me to watch Duncan MacLeod, champion of all that is good and righteous, struggling to cope with the mundane challenges of everyday life." 

Now upright with the groceries re-bagged, Duncan gestured for Methos to open the door. 

"You must be easily amused," he said, enter the barge. Methos opened his mouth to reply, frowned briefly, then followed. 

As Duncan began surveying the groceries, Methos sprawled with ostentatious abandon on the sofa. "I must say, you looked as nervous as a new bride just now. I'd give it a 9.6 on the over-reaction portion of the free-style program." 

"You could announce yourself." Duncan sighed at a carton of shattered eggs and tossed them into the garbage. 

"You usually handle my approach with less...collateral damage." 

"Not on days when I've already met someone new." 

Methos raised his eyebrows. "Really? Well, since we're making eye contact, I assume that this other person – " 

"Still has his head, too," Duncan finished, putting items in cabinets. "I convinced him that an alley near a busy street was a poor venue for a challenge neither of us wanted." 

"You missed your calling, MacLeod. A born diplomat, that's you." Methos reclined further on the sofa, putting his booted feet up on the arm. 

"Well, he was a little nervous himself. Seems he's detected his watcher and thinks some immortal is having him followed." 

"Really? They must have a real greenhorn on this guy. Who is he, do you know?"

"Said his name was Kendall Crane." 

"Oh, bloody hell!" groaned Methos, sitting up and looking as though he'd just tasted something vile. 

"What? You know him?" 

"Oh, god, yes. I made the grievous error of taking him on as a student centuries ago. One of the biggest annoyances of my life." 

"What do you mean?" 

"The guy's a total pain in the arse. Clingy, never any ideas of his own, wants to _hang out_ all the time. Once I finally got him trained, I couldn't get rid of the bugger. Had to use a convenient earthquake to assist my disappearance." 

It was Duncan's turn to look amused. He liked the thought of someone getting under the old guy's skin immensely. "When did you last see him?" 

"Oh, he manages to turn up every 70, 80 years or so, but he's early this time. I had to cut short a trip to Tibet a few years ago because he showed up. Difficult to meditate with an adoring audience." 

Coming around from behind the counter, Duncan perched on the edge of the sofa, now that there was room for someone else to sit. "Well, I'm sure it won't be long before he locates you this time." 

"Oh, no. If Crane is here, I shall take myself elsewhere." 

"You aren't going anywhere. If he's on to his watcher, he's likely to hurt somebody." 

"An eventuality that will have nothing whatever to do with yours truly."

"He's your student." 

"He's my albatross, and I'm severing the cord around my neck as we speak." 

Duncan leaned toward his friend, his expression becoming more serious. "If he goes after his watcher, he might compromise the whole organization. From what you've said about Crane, he's not the kind of guy who should be walking around with knowledge of the Watchers. Someone needs to nip this in the bud, and he trusts you." 

Methos met Duncan's earnest gaze with one of disgust. "You're trying to appeal to my noble side." 

"Hope springs eternal in the immortal breast." 

Flopping back into a disheartened heap, Methos groaned again. "Fine. I'll try to find the silly twit before he skewers his incompetent watcher." 

"You're a beacon of altruism." 

Methos merely sneered.


	3. 3

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Chapter 3 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

Kendall propped his feet up on the table in front of him and carefully kept a sneer from his face. The young couple who was also staying at the hostel was arguing again. Kendall took a long swig from his beer and shook his head. As the imminent approach of an immortal assaulted his senses he glanced up to see Adam Benjamin enter.

His teacher spared a glance at the bickering couple and then sauntered over to slouch on the sofa next to him. "Got your message!" was all he said.

Kendall tossed him a beer. "Nice to see you, too."

Methos popped the top on the beer, downed it eagerly, crushed the can and tossed it into a nearby waste-can. "So... what's so damned important you wanted to see me... again."

"Ever been followed?" Kendall finished his own beer... and in a friendly competition, crushed it and tossed it into the waste-can as well.

"Constantly!" smirked Methos. "What _are_ they arguing about?" he suddenly asked.

"They have three days in Paris. They've spent two of them arguing about which sites to see... as near as I can tell... they haven't bothered to actually go see anything," Kendall smirked. He shook his head. "The foibles of the young."

Methos groaned. "Tell me about it."

Kendall shot him a suspicious look. "Look Benjamin..."

"Adam... call me Adam."

Kendall sighed, "Fine... Adam... some mortal has been following me... any ideas?"

"Take him aside... talk to him... find out if he is really following you and then tell him to get lost!"

"I think he's working for someone... one of us."

Methos sighed, "I doubt it. If it was one of us... we'd just challenge you and get it over with."

"Speaking of challenges... I did meet someone earlier." Kendall smiled smugly.

"Oh be still my beating heart..." Methos rolled his eyes. "And..." he finally said when Kendall had become all too quiet.

"Oh... I let him live. He claimed he wasn't following me."

"And does this immortal have a name?"

"MacLeod... Duncan MacLeod... Ever here of him?"

"Mmmm... I think so... Tall... brooding... enormous shoulders... dark hair... Did I mention his shoulders?"

"That's the one!"

"Obnoxious boor... Stay away from him." Methos nodded, reaching for another beer.

"Why's that?" Kendall handed his teacher the beer and opened the last of the six-pack for himself.

"He's a dullard... likes opera... very honorable... sees the world in black and white... very much the Boy Scout!"

"Is he any good?" Kendall recalled that _katana_.

"He's passable... He took Byron's head recently!"

"Well Byron's abilities had gone downhill sharply since he took up rock stardom!" Kendall and Byron had shared a few drinks once upon a time. He hadn't liked the young immortal... but Benjamin seemed to have regarded the man's poetry as something worthwhile.

"Agreed."

"So... do you want this MacLeod's head?"

"If I wanted it... I'd have had it... years ago." Methos polished off his beer. If these two ever got together and compared notes... his ass was likely cooked. "I don't need any help when I do accept a challenge, Kendall, as you may recall."

Kendall nodded. He did recall. He recalled very well.

"So... I should just either ignore my follower or call him out."

"Yep!" Methos tossed his crushed and empty beer can into the waste-can where it clinked against the others. He stood and pulled his sweater down, gave Kendall a little wave and a smirk then walked out, hoping that, as they say, would be that. He liked Kendall... he just wished the immortal would get a life! Kendall had few resources and no property. The man just seemed to travel... he never did anything or became anything... he just moved through his immortal life as though he were a _voyeur_... watching the world evolve around him. Of course... Methos had to admit... he was much the same way these days... but there had been a time... oh yes... there had been a time.

As he left the hostel... Methos observed the rather obvious Watcher... not one he knew personally... nor one he recognized. There was a chance that this wasn't a Watcher... that Kendall was right and someone had been hired to keep an eye on the wandering immortal. Perhaps it was time Methos involved himself.

He wandered close to the mortal and bumped into him... all the while apologizing as he lifted the man's wallet and checked for the lack of tattoo on the man's wrist. Most definitely _not_ a Watcher! A few blocks later... he tossed the man's wallet onto the ground where it could be found. He'd seen what he needed to... the man carried a business card with a name of one of them on it... an immortal that Methos did not want to meet... not again. Was his interest in Kendall Crane coincidence... or was Methos' old adversary attempting to find him once more?

Thoughtfully... Methos plunged his hands deeply into the pockets of his dark coat and attempted to become the invisible immortal as he slouched down the street.


	4. 4

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Chapter 4 of 12

(_Bladelover_)

Walking past the glass front of _Le Blues Bar_, Methos belatedly noted the presence of an immortal, which turned out to be MacLeod. Damn. He'd hoped to catch Joe alone. Maybe he could slip back away and return later… 

No, MacLeod had spotted him and was waving him inside and over to the table he and Joe occupied. Putting forth his customary air of bored irony, Methos entered the bar, slouched into a chair, and asked for a beer, which Dawson promptly delivered. 

"Glad you're here," Duncan was saying. "Joe has found out something interesting." 

"About?" Methos sipped his beer and projected a lack of real interest as Joe eased back into his chair. 

"About your friend Kendall Crane." 

Methos cocked his head at MacLeod and spoke in a lazily sarcastic tone. "Crane? If you were going to meddle in this yourself, why did I have to get involved in the first place?" 

"Did you talk to him?" 

"Yes." 

"And?" 

"I told him to either ignore the buffoon who is following him or confront him and tell him to get lost." 

"What?" Dawson sounded a little appalled. "You told him to go after his Watcher?" 

"No, I gave him two options. I also emphasized that there was little likelihood of any real threat. I doubt Kendall will be proactive enough to choose the second option. He just wanted his mind eased more than anything." 

Joe did not seem completely mollified, but said, "Well, you may have given him a false sense of relief, then. We do have a Watcher on him, but that's not who he's spotted. Our man has reported seeing _another_ guy on Crane's trail since before he left Italy a couple of months ago." 

Methos made a pretense of mild surprise. "Really. Who is he?" 

Joe shook his head. "We're not sure. Our guy has tried to follow him a couple of times, but his assignment is to keep tabs on Crane. He was ordered to stick with his immortal." 

"Observe and record, never interfere," Methos murmured, taking a deep swig of the beer. 

"Glad to hear you still remember," Dawson drawled. 

After a slight, sarcastic nod, Methos asked in a bored voice, "What was Kendall up to when your guy first noticed the other tail?" He was dismayed to note MacLeod's sharp look of interest; apparently, he had failed to fool at least one of his friends into believing his show of indifference. 

"Nothing, really. Crane's mostly a drifter. He's always 'just passing through.' Our guy's been bored stiff most of the time, at least till Crane started hanging out with that artsy crowd in Venice." 

Methos allowed one eyebrow to rise. "Artsy crowd? Kendall?" 

Joe nodded. "His watcher found it a nice change, having actual encounters to report, with people who weren't either waiters or passersby. He was sick of Crane just hanging out everywhere he went." Joe gave a little laugh, remembering the frustration in the Watcher's reports. 

Methos stared into his mug of beer following this unwelcome bit of information. Kendall had never been one to appreciate the fine arts, so a sudden association with "artsy" types was unlikely to be for personal enrichment. Ditto his newfound appearance of purpose. 

Although the old immortal had just recently been complaining to himself about Crane's need to get a life, he now found himself wondering just what sort of new life his former student might be embarking on – and how it might affect his old teacher. Certainly, the reference to art was disturbing given its association with the old enemy whose name Methos had found in a certain wallet yesterday. For the first time, he began to wonder about Kendall's true intentions in coming to Paris and seeking him out. 

He became aware of the eyes of both Joe and MacLeod watching him intently. He feigned puzzlement. "What?" 

MacLeod leaned forward. "You look a little troubled. What's on your mind?" 

Methos smirked. "Not troubled, just perplexed, wondering what an 'artsy crowd' would be doing bringing a philistine like Kendall into their midst. Maybe it's one of those pranks like college fraternities do, where they all bring an unpopular girl to a party." 

Joe smirked back and shook his head, getting up to go back behind the bar. Methos noted without looking that MacLeod's eyes still regarded him skeptically. 

"You're not going to tell me what's really bothering you, are you?" 

Airily, Methos retorted, "I'd love to tell you what's bothering me, MacLeod, but you always accuse me of whining." Draining his glass, he stood up abruptly yet without apparent hurry, gave a cockeyed salute to MacLeod, and made a lazy exit from the bar. 

Out on the street, the twinkle had left his eyes and his look was anything but lighthearted. 


	5. 5

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Chapter 5 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

Once he noticed his bumbling pursuer, Kendall considered where best to confront the man. He didn't want to do it on a public street... too many people... too many questions. Still... as Kendall sauntered down the _Rue Madeline_ he was painfully aware the man was close behind.

Lazily, as if it were his true intention, Kendall turned into the Luxembourg Gardens and wandered aimlessly through the formal gardens until he was close enough to one of the mazes to slip behind the shrubbery and await his follower.

When the man passed in front of him... Kendall leaped and grasped the man by the collar.

"Looking for someone?"

Perspiration dripped from the man's forehead. He stammered, "Loo... look... looking?"

Kendall roughly went through the man's pockets, and finding his passport, read it, "Dieter Mueller? German?" Now why did that ring a bell?

"My wallet was stolen yesterday... I have nothing of value... Please!"

"Oh really!" Kendall was definitely tired of this. "Who hired you to watch me?" he threatened.

"Watch you?"

Kendall rolled his eyes... "Was the man an idiot?"

"Italy... Spain... now France... Just coincidence? I think not!" Kendall roughly replaced Mueller's passport. "Who hired you?"

The man swallowed nervously. "I don't know... not really... I was just told to follow you. Occasionally when I lost you... I'd call a number and be told where to find you again. The card with the number on it was in my stolen wallet... I don't remember the number."

Kendall lowered and his hands and stared at the fool. "You were hired to follow me... but you kept losing my trail so whoever hired you would tell you were to find me?" He laughed, "This makes no sense... What was the name on the card? Maybe it's a friend playing a practical joke."

The little man wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Johann Meinhoff."

Kendall Crane felt an icy dagger of fear. Thoughtfully he straightened Mueller's coat and brushed away imaginary lint. "If I were you... I'd find a new line of work. The next man you follow may not be so understanding."

Pivoting sharply... Kendall headed for the nearest exit... If Meinhoff were involved... then Kendall had done the one thing he should not have done... He had led the man straight to Benjamin. Damn! Whatever had made him think he could fool the man last year? He'd pretended neither to recognize the flamboyant painter nor to have any interest in his work at all. 

Kendall had met a young woman at a bar in Venice who'd flirted a bit with him. Responding in like nature... he'd found himself several days later having agreed to model for her art class.

"You have such interesting... cheekbones," Magda had laughed... making it clear which cheeks she meant as she'd rolled off of him that morning. "Please Ken... you have to pose for me... all of us bring people in to pose... It's my turn."

"And that's all this was? Just a seduction to get me to take my clothes off?"

"Mmmm... at first!" Magda had sat up and stretched. "But I rather liked the private performance." Her pale blonde hair had fallen over her blue eyes and he'd found himself reaching for her again.

She had been something! So he'd posed. The class of nine students had seemed appreciative and he'd found he'd rather enjoyed the experience... though he doubted his old teacher would have approved. "Try not to let anyone paint your portrait or make a sculpture," Benjamin had taught him, "You never know when those bloody things will turn up!" But these were just students... these were just exercises in drawing the human form with charcoal... Kendall had doubted there would be any lasting ramifications. He'd assumed it was all harmless... At least until Meinhoff had walked in.

Instantly Kendall had realized he was unarmed and vulnerable. He'd steeled his face so that he betrayed no recognition... but Meinhoff had leered a bit... Later he'd "officially" introduced himself... He was the instructor of this class... he appreciated the young man's contribution... Would he like to continue? Would he be interested in posing for the master?

Kendall had decided that moving on might be the better course of action. As much as he enjoyed Magda... and he had... Kendall enjoyed his head on his shoulders far more. He'd bid her farewell with a kiss and left Venice behind him. 

From his limited knowledge of Meinhoff... Kendall Crane knew the man was dangerous. He was younger than Kendall by about three centuries... but he'd racked up quite a tally from all he'd heard. And once... a few centuries ago... he'd been after Benjamin! Evidently... Meinhoff had recognized Kendall somehow... made the connection... Even after all this time... Johann Meinhoff was still after Adam Benjamin.

Kendall left another message for his friend at the tavern and left. He needed to find a place to work out... a place to practice. Every instinct he had told him to run... to leave Paris... But if Meinhoff was after Benjamin... then Kendall had to be ready. If he had inadvertently led Meinhoff here... then he would challenge him first... before he could get to Benjamin. He would not have it said that Kendall Crane had ever failed his friends... nor that he had ever betrayed them. 


	6. 6

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Chapter 6 of 12

(_Bladelover_)

When Kendall sensed immortality as he approached the door to the hostel, he knew immediately that Benjamin had found out about his inadvertently leading Meinhoff right to Benjamin's doorstep. Certainly it was too soon for him to be responding to the message Kendall had left at the tavern. 

Loathe to face the angry version of his old teacher (with whom he was unfortunately rather well-acquainted), Kendall nearly kept right on walking. But he knew that he would have face the music eventually, and it was important to him to show Benjamin that he would clean up the mess he'd made. So, he took a deep breath and entered the hostel. 

A smiling Duncan MacLeod was the last person he had expected to find inside. 

"Hello again, Kendall Crane," said the Scot amiably. Seeing Crane's reflexive reach to within his coat, MacLeod waved a hand reassuringly and, retaining his smile, said, "I'm not here for your head, just for a conversation." Leaning closer, and with a glance at the still-bickering young couple, he added, "Is there somewhere more private for us to talk?" 

Sensing no ulterior motive (and relying heavily on Benjamin's characterization of MacLeod as a "Boy Scout"), Kendall grunted and led the man to the room he occupied in the hostel. "How did you find me?" he demanded brusquely. 

"We have a friend in common." In reality, Duncan had badgered Joe into parting with Crane's address, but he certainly couldn't say that. 

"Benjamin told you where to find me?" Crane seemed incredulous. Duncan wished belatedly that he had found out exactly what moniker Methos used with his former student. Was Benjamin the first or last name? 

Ignoring the question, Duncan came to the point. "Look, I came to find out exactly why you're in Paris. He won't discuss it, but I can tell that… Benjamin… is concerned about something. Something to do with you." 

Kendall looked crestfallen. Sitting down heavily on the unmade bed, he sighed and looked up at Duncan. "He knows about Meinhoff, then?" 

Duncan shifted uneasily. "Possibly… Should he?" 

Giving a short, bitter laugh, Kendall said, "You could say that. Especially since it seems I've led him right to Adam." 

This was getting more confusing by the second, but Duncan was determined to sort it all out. "And Adam wouldn't like that, I gather?"

Suddenly suspicious, Crane sprang to his feet. "Look here, these are some pretty odd questions for someone who wants me to think he has Benjamin's confidence. Why don't you tell me exactly what _you_ know about all this?" He positioned his right hand for easy sword access, just for emphasis. 

Duncan sighed. "The truth is, I don't know anything. But I can tell when… Adam is worried, and that doesn't happen without real potential trouble on the horizon. I just want to find out what that trouble is and be ready to help if needed. That's all." 

After a long, searching gaze at the Highlander's face, Crane nodded. "Okay, I guess I believe you. Have a seat." 

Taking the rather rickety small wooden chair, Duncan said, "Tell me about Meinhoff." 

"He's an immortal," said Crane, sitting again on the bed. "An artist too, a good one they say. But definitely no cream puff in the challenge department. He's also a collector of arts and antiquities, which is how Benjamin and he crossed paths a few centuries ago." 

"What happened?" 

"I'm not sure. Benjamin was always stingy with the details, but I gather that he somehow prevented Meinhoff from acquiring a particularly precious item. Meinhoff vowed revenge, was after Adam for a lot of years." 

Duncan frowned. "And?" 

"That's it."

"He just… gave up?" 

"I don't know. I told you, Benjamin never told me the whole story." 

He never does, Duncan thought. "There must be more to it than Benjamin simply interfering in the acquisition. I wonder if he knows something about what happened to the item in question. That might explain why Meinhoff hasn't simply challenged him to avenge the incident." 

"You mean, Meinhoff thinks Benjamin could lead him to the thing, whatever it is?" 

Duncan shrugged. "Only one person can tell us the answer." 

Crane heaved a dramatic sigh. "You're welcome to wait here for him. I left word for him to reach me." 

Clapping Kendall on the arm, Duncan rose. "Come on, I think I can do better than that."

***

Watching the hostel from outside sensing range, Methos was annoyed to see a certain broad-shouldered Scot now accompanied Crane. They stopped at a pay phone. His frustration was boundless. 

"Blasted nosy Highlander! Friends! What a royal pain in the – " He answered his ringing cell phone. 

"Hi," said Duncan's voice. "I need to talk to you. It's urgent. Meet me at Joe's place in half an hour." 

Swallowing a sigh of impatience, Methos agreed. Hanging up, he realized there was no point in continuing to follow Crane. He certainly wouldn't lead him to Meinhoff now. He turned and set out in the opposite direction, rather put out. 

He never noticed the man trailing well behind him – staying just out of _his_ sensing range. 


	7. 7

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Chapter 7 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

Methos entered _Le Blues Bar_ gingerly. As expected, he saw Kendall and MacLeod hunched over a table in the rear. Joe was behind the bar. He gave Methos a friendly nod of acknowledgment as he continued to wipe glasses down in preparation of the evening rush.

Methos slid into a vacant seat and helped himself to the offered beer... opening it. Obviously MacLeod wanted the three of them to talk... but had not explained Joe or the Watchers to Kendall.

"So," Methos drawled as if bored stiff (which he wasn't) and out of sorts (which he was). "What's so damned important that it takes both of you to tell me."

Kendall took a deep breath. "Johann Meinhoff," he said simply.

Methos nodded. "What about him?"

"He's the one following me."

"So," Methos lounged back in his chair and stretched his feet out. Carefully he rested his beer bottle casually on his chest... as if this news were of no importance whatsoever.

"I think he's after you... still."

"Of course he is." Methos took a swig of beer and glared at both immortals through narrowed eyes. He made certain his face betrayed none of the turmoil he felt.

"So what did you do to this guy, exactly?" Duncan asked.

Methos closed his eyes. He could see the moment in time clearly. He could see the choices he'd made. He had known there would be consequences... but he'd been willing to face them one day. Now, that "one day" was here... Now he wondered if he would still have made the same choice.

Glancing at the two of them... both obviously worried and concerned... Methos considered coming clean... telling them what had really happened. But there are moments in one's life that one never wants anyone to know. His time with the horsemen had been such a moment... and this was another. He'd convinced MacLeod that over three thousand years he had changed... that the behavior he'd exhibited while riding with Kronos was a symptom of the times and a bad choice, on his part, of companions. But what he'd done to Meinhoff was only a few hundred years ago. He'd done it. He'd made the choice. There had been no Kronos... no horsemen... no bad companions he could blame it on. It had just been him. "_Sometimes... even the distant past is too much a part of who we are... and all we are._" he thought guiltily.

"An art deal gone bad," he finally quipped... hoping they'd bought it. "We both wanted something... I got to it first... he lost... I won... He has never quite moved beyond that."

"I didn't realize I was leading him here!" Kendall broke in apologetically. "Benjamin... I _am_ sorry."

"Don't be... he's known where I am for some time," Methos lied and sipped his beer. "He just wanted to bring you into this for some reason. I can handle him... I will handle him. Now stay out of it." Methos polished off his beer and pushed back from the table. "See you guys later."

"Adam," began MacLeod.

"Later!" Methos stared at the Scot evenly and let a dark edge of menace creep into his voice.

He would not... he could not discuss this with the two of them... Not here... not now... not ever.

Pivoting sharply he threw Joe a wave as he exited the bar.

Behind him Duncan MacLeod watched his friend leave with an almost palpable sense of fear. "_He's hiding something!_" the Scot thought.

At his side, the older immortal took a last sip of his own beer. "Should I follow him? I know he's making light of this. He always does... but I think there's something more going on here than he pretends."

MacLeod nodded. "You have my cell number... Keep in touch."

After Kendall left, Duncan gave Joe a meaningful glance. "Now explain to me just who the hell this Johann Meinhoff is and why he's after Methos!"


	8. 8

****

Chapter 8 of 12 

(_Bladelover_)

The disturbing events leading to his current situation had all taken place in the summer of 1795 in Madrid. Dr. Adam Benjamin had come to town ostensibly to perform a check-up on his former patient, Francisco Jose de Goya y Lucientes; but the ambiance of the city and the remarkable talents of his patient were the chief attractions for him.

Now completely deaf due to the illness for which Benjamin had treated him three years prior, and for which he had been lucky to survive; Goya had also suffered a darkening mood. An outlook, due not only to his hearing loss, but also to ongoing changes to the social and political landscape around him. The factors that now made the artist a somewhat less pleasant dinner companion had also brought a wickedly satirical bite to his work, which appealed to his doctor immensely. 

Goya had left word at the inn for Benjamin to meet him at his studio, and the walk had been a pleasant one. However, once he'd come within range, he had sensed an immortal lurking within. Not yet having shunned the Game, Benjamin was not one to avoid such a confrontation, but neither did he like walking right into an undefined situation. He chose to remain outside and wait for the other immortal to seek him out. 

It happened within minutes. A tall but otherwise nondescript man, who looked about thirty, dressed in a paint-splattered artist's smock, walked cautiously out of the building and looked around briefly before locking eyes with Benjamin. 

"You're here for me?" he asked with a slight German accent. 

"No, I'm here to visit with the master," Benjamin said, smiling slightly. "I'm his physician." Eyeing the other man's apparel, he added, "I gather you're his student." 

The other immortal looked him over appraisingly before nodding. "One of them." When Benjamin made no further effort to move the conversation forward, the man continued. "So, how shall we handle this? I would prefer not to leave in the middle of my studies; perhaps we could meet tonight, around six o'clock?"

Benjamin realized he'd applied the term nondescript too hastily to this man. His eyes, light blue and very clear, were so penetrating that their gaze could almost be felt physically. Benjamin guessed that little was ever missed by them. The air of confidence was also unmistakable, and told of challenges accepted without hesitation and won. This one would provide an interesting match, he'd wager. 

But Benjamin had long ago given up fighting for the mere enjoyment of it. "I do hate to fight before supper – it spoils the digestion. Why don't we agree to simply acknowledge one another and carry on? I have no desire to take your head merely because it exists." 

Another appraising look preceded an abrupt introduction. "Johann Meinhoff," the man said, extending his hand. Benjamin reciprocated, and the two men stepped inside. 

The studio was small and shabby, as such places often are, but there were colorful things happening within. Isabela immediately caught his eye, a dark beauty with large warm eyes he could dive into and spend the rest of the night in a blissful, leisurely swim. He noted with pleasure those eyes following him as he moved about the studio, admiring the works of Goya's protégés. 

He had stopped to pay her an obligatory compliment, but was taken aback by what he saw on her canvas: two youngsters, a boy and a girl, caught in a moment of sudden and fleeting maturity. Standing under a tree in an orchard, the boy was taking advantage of the girl's distraction as she reached for a fruit by leaning in for an unexpected kiss on her cheek. 

The scene would have been trite and forgettable save for the expressions on the faces of the subjects – he displaying his longing of his emerging desires, she wearing her first tentative awareness of the demands of love. Though done in the somewhat superficial Rococo style of the period, it had a power and grace that made one ache. 

Benjamin and Isabela had enjoyed respectable but desire-laden conversation, and it was clear to everyone in the room that he would be enjoying her company later that evening. Engaged in thrilling her with his wit and charm, he never saw the hand on his shoulder that spun him around to connect a fist with his jaw. From the floor, he gazed up into the infuriated face of Johann Meinhoff. It occurred to Benjamin that the expression was not unlike that of Isabela's boy. 

In the ensuing chaos of both Isabela and Goya decrying Meinhoff's behavior, Benjamin managed to assure them both that there was no harm done. He also persuaded the master not to expel the immortal from his tutelage. But he made a point of not only leaving the studio with Isabela on his arm, but of making eye contact with Meinhoff as he did so. Rubbing the jaw that no longer hurt, he also decided that what he'd planned as a brief dalliance, would now be something more. 

During their time together, Benjamin frequently noted Meinhoff lurking in the background – during walks, at dinner, once even in the nearby woods during a picnic. Sometimes he saw him in town accompanied by another man, also immortal. Alarm bells clanged. Later, upon describing the man to Isabela, he had learned that the man was Lorenzo, an art student of Meinhoff's. Isabela scoffed, saying that the man had no talent and she didn't understand why Meinhoff kept him on. Benjamin had an idea, which he kept to himself. 

Almost six weeks later, Benjamin was ready to move on. He had already remained in Madrid longer than he'd intended, and Isabela was obviously taking their liaison too seriously. It was time to take himself on to the next adventure. She had taken it badly, and on the walk back to the inn that night, he resolved to get an early start the next day to avoid a scene. 

He felt an immortal as he walked across a meadow on his way to the inn. He was dismayed but not surprised. The darkness made it difficult to see anything clearly, and he stopped moving and strained for audible clues to Meinhoff's whereabouts. 

With hardly a sound, Lorenzo strode into his path, brandishing his sword. 

"You don't want to do this," Benjamin said earnestly. It was glaringly obvious that the young immortal was not ready for a challenge, even if his opponent were _not_ almost 5000 years old. 

"You have offended my teacher and sullied the honor of his woman. I will have satisfaction in his name." 

Benjamin allowed himself a roll of the eyes, thinking the darkness would hide it, but Lorenzo thrust the sword with an enraged cry, and he was forced to defend himself. The young immortal was disarmed within three minutes. 

"I don't want your head, youngster," Benjamin said, withdrawing his broadsword from Lorenzo's throat. Later, he would berate himself for not resisting the parting shot as he walked away. "Be sure to tell Meinhoff how ill-prepared you were. He'll want to know." 

He heard the motion on grass as Lorenzo got to his feet and turned just in time to avoid the wild stroke at his neck. Reflexes took over, and the young man quickly lay headless at his feet. The Quickening was mercifully short, and as he rested on one knee, he gave thanks for the empty field. Hopefully he could get back to the inn and leave tomorrow before – 

A sudden sound behind him caused a moment of panic. He had dropped his sword during the Quickening, and there was no time to retrieve it now. Sure that Meinhoff was here to avenge his student, he spun around as he drew the knife from the sheath on his back – and plunged it into the belly of Isabela. She had followed to plead with him to stay, most likely, had witnessed the Quickening, and had approached to make sure he was unhurt. In the aftermath of the Quickening, he had failed to appreciate the lack of immortal sensation at her unexpected approach. 

As he stood surveying the gruesome scene, Benjamin couldn't escape the fact that it was solely the result of his own stubborn pride and inability to walk away from an ill-considered insult without retribution. He didn't know it at that moment, but Lorenzo' would be the last head he would take for another two hundred years. 

It had taken little effort to make it appear that someone had murdered two secret lovers during a tryst. He regretted that this would throw suspicion on Meinhoff, but it was a question of survival. He did not admire himself for being able to so callously reason away what he was doing. In fact, there wasn't much about his behavior in the past six weeks that he did find admirable. It was uncomfortably close to things he'd done in the distant – and yet not so distant, after all – past. 

Before he left Madrid, he persuaded Goya to let him have Isabela's painting. He told the old master that he wanted a remembrance of her vitality and talent, but in fact, he wanted something tangible to remind himself of the depths to which he could so easily sink. 

It was only much later that he realized he should have allowed the painting to go to Meinhoff, who had truly loved her. But by then, it was much too late. 


	9. 9

****

Chapter 9 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

He'd had the painting installed in the house on Knob Hill, in San Francisco when he'd bought the place. It had hung quietly in the parlor and had elicited a number of comments from admirers and visitors to his home over the years he had lived there. He'd gotten a somewhat overblown reputation as a philanthropist... a man who'd made his money in gold or oil or silver... the specifics were unknown and a matter of speculation. He'd remained essentially under the Watcher radar at the time, just one more eccentric millionaire in a city with a hundred of them on Knob Hill alone.

He had not spared Johann Meinhoff a second thought in over a hundred years. Methos, currently using the name Benjamin Smith, made certain every single day of his life there... that he took time to stare at Isabela's painting and remind himself how easily his courtly manners could be lost... how thin was the veneer of civilized behavior in his soul. Scratch him deeply enough... and Death was still there. Death was a part of him and always would be. To deny that part of him was to give it power over him and he could not let it happen ever again.

It had almost been a surprise that warm day that he'd looked up to sense an immortal presence too near to be a coincidence. Johann Meinhoff glared at him from across the busy street. 

Normally Methos would not have been in this area of San Francisco, down near the docks... but he'd been checking on the arrival of some cargo he'd ordered for one of his charities. He had decided that since the day was warm, the weather delightful, and he had the time, to take a constitutional walk back to his home, instead of a hired cab.

It had been a mistake. Methos did not make many mistakes, but this had been one of them.

Meinhoff had crossed the street and stood before him easily, confidently. His pale blue eyes sizing up his opponent's stance and attire. Already Methos could sense that the man had been busy in the one hundred and eleven years since he'd last seen him. From artist dilettante with a smattering of real talent... Meinhoff had likely turned himself into a master swordsman with a number of kills under his belt.

In one moment, Methos had known Meinhoff had practiced with one thought for the last century, to meet and best "Dr. Benjamin Adams". While Methos had continued to work out... continued to practice... he'd managed to avoid any serious challenges since that long ago night. He'd focused instead on easing suffering... and on keeping his mouth shut. His tendency to meet slights and insults with a snappy repartee... he tried to keep low-key. He'd forced himself time and time again to just walk away. The word coward could not take his head.

But Johann Meinhoff just might. Methos had realized that fact in the first moment he saw him standing there. When he crossed the street to challenge him, Methos had nodded in recognition.

"This time Doctor, I think we shall meet. I am at your convenience."

"And if my convenience is to walk away?" Methos had tried to pass him by only to be grabbed on the arm. He'd frozen momentarily and then calmly turned. "Kindly remove that hand or you may very well lose it."

Meinhoff had dropped the hand, "You will meet me, doctor, or I shall shadow your every step. I shall speak of your crimes in social circles. I shall destroy your standing in the community. Perhaps..." and he had leaned in menacingly, "I shall rob you as you once robbed me."

Methos had realized in that moment that Meinhoff had been watching him for sometime. That he knew of the doctor's "lovely wife" and that it might be she who would pay the price for the doctor's crimes.

He'd hesitated only a moment as he'd considered several options. Finally arriving at the best one, he'd snapped officially at the artist. "Very well, tomorrow morning, across the bay. There's some uninhabited land in that area. We meet at dawn." He'd turned to leave.

"Why not tonight?" Meinhoff had insisted; hatred had seemed to drip from his words.

"I have dinner guests this evening... a rather important charity function. I wish to settle a few things." Methos had leaned close to Meinhoff. "Or are you so ready to die?"

Meinhoff had blanched momentarily as he'd heard those words. Methos had let all the darkness of his ancient soul pour into the tone of those last comments. If Meinhoff got the message... then perhaps he'd decide life was rather to be lived and grievances to be forgiven.

Reluctantly he'd met the man the next morning at dawn. They'd stood for a few moments watching the sunrise in the east and the first rays of light inch across the surface of San Francisco Bay. Then they'd turned, briefly saluted one another and begun the duel. It had been fairly even and, as Methos had feared, Meinhoff might well win. Then fate stepped in.

The early morning calm of that April day was shattered, not by steel or by a quickening, but by an earthquake. While the quake lasted only a minute, the fires began almost immediately and spread with a horrifying speed to encompass much of the city. In his nearly five thousand years, Methos had seen many earthquakes, but none had ever prepared him for the swift destruction of the city by the bay... not from the quake itself as much as by the fire. The newly installed gas lines and gaslights ruptured by the quake fed the blaze into an inferno.

All thoughts of duel and challenge left Methos' mind as he realized the toll of human suffering that would occur and his overriding need to get home... he needed to be certain those he cared for were safe.

Meinhoff had lost his footing during the first tremors of the quake, slipping partially down the embankment, and Methos had seized the opportunity to leave. "Another time!" he'd called over his shoulder as he'd rushed into the hell that was the aftermath of the earthquake.

The human toll of the next few days and the horror had evidently touched Meinhoff too. He had not come after the "doctor", perhaps realizing that even a "sorry son of a bitch" doctor was still a necessity in the face of so much suffering. Meinhoff had moved on.

Methos tracked the artist for several years, being certain to stay away from him. He'd have shipped him Isabela's painting if he'd been able to. But while his home had been essentially free of major damage, there had been one small fire... in the parlor... a fire that had consumed the precious painting... and with it the only chance Methos might have had to apologize to Meinhoff.

Methos had not let himself feel guilt since the eleventh century... he'd decided letting guilt for his past actions consume him was self-destructive and he had wanted to survive. Thus, he'd turned his back on guilt... but he still felt regret over some of his choices... and his treatment of Meinhoff had been one such choice. If Johann Meinhoff was a "headhunter" and a black-hearted villain... it was his treatment at the hands of Methos that had made him such.

Now... almost a hundred years later, Methos might yet have to reap the fruits of what he'd once sown in anger. He might have to kill this man, and if he were honest... Methos knew he didn't really want to kill Johann Meinhoff... but neither did he want to die. 


	10. 10

****

Chapter 10 of 12

(_historygirl_)

Kendall Crane strode out of _Le Blues Bar_, thoughts churning. He had offered to follow his former teacher, but he was also aware that Benjamin was very capable of discovering his tail, and making his life very uncomfortable. Glancing down at his feet, he tried to decide what, exactly, he was going to do. 

A great surge of immortal presence coincided with a sudden whistle to get his attention. Looking up, Kendall saw Benjamin … Adam, he mentally corrected himself … gesturing to him from across the street. Sighing, Kendall checked for traffic and trudged over to his friend. 

"Figured you'd try to follow me," Adam stated sardonically, "thought I'd save you some trouble and wait." 

Kendall wondered when he had become so transparent, or if perhaps he had always been so to his teacher. "Look, Adam, I just want to help. I feel –" 

"Responsible. Yeah, I know." Adam cut him off easily. "Thought I'd trained that guilt out of you long ago." Shaking his head, Adam _tsked_ under his breath. 

Kendall felt some of the tension leech out of his posture as he realized his teacher was retaining a sense of humor about the situation. "Well, I guess some habits are harder to break than others." 

Adam grinned wryly as he caught Kendall's subtle reference to the time the two of them had spent on holy ground while Kendall learned how to deal with his sudden immortality. Posing as priests, they had tired quickly of the celibate life and tried to talk a number of nuns at the nearby convent into 'changing their habits'. 

Laughing openly now, Adam threw an arm around Kendall's shoulders. "C'mon old friend, we need to talk." 

Trying to ease his suddenly returned tension, Kendall let Adam lead him to a nearby park. 

**********

Kendall sat on the bench, gazing imploringly up at Adam. They had been covering the same ground for the last fifteen minutes, but he refused to let it go. 

"Why won't you let me help you?" He winced inwardly at the plaintive sound of his voice. "It's my fault this guy found you. It's my fault he knows where you are. If I hadn't tried to disappear from Venice, he never would have thought I had anything to hide, never would have tried to follow me …" 

"Enough!" Adam's tone was forceful enough to startle the pigeons roosting on a nearby statue. They rose into the air, the flapping of their wings evidence of their disdain for the effrontery of the human intruders to their park. Kendall jumped, telling himself it was a result of the pigeons and not the fierceness of Adam's expression. 

"I will say this one last time," Adam's words cut the air like a sword, "you are in no way responsible for the difficulties between Meinhoff and myself." Shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat, he strode back and forth in front of the bench for a few moments, obviously seeking control. 

"Meinhoff is my problem, Kendall, _mine_. And he is a problem I should have addressed long before now." The last words were muttered, almost below audible range. "You cannot fight my battles for me, I won't let you." 

Kendall noted the finality of Adam's statement, and also the sense that these words had been spoken before. He wondered briefly about the events of his teacher's life since they had last met, hoping they would still have a chance to catch up. 

"Benjamin … Adam," he implored one more time, "please, I can help."

"What you can do, Kendall, is walk yourself back to that bar, order yourself a drink, and keep MacLeod company until this is over." A strong note of command had joined the note of finality in Adam's tone. This was Adam's 'I am your teacher, and if you listen to me you just might get to stay alive' voice. 

Kendall found himself standing almost against his will. His mulish expression indicated his opinion of the situation more clearly than words could ever say. Pulling his coat closely around him, he set his shoulders and turned back toward Le Blues Bar. Stalking away, he heard Adam's voice call out to him once more. 

"And don't drink all my beer." 


	11. 11

****

Chapter 11 of 12

(_Bladelover_)

"Honestly, Mac," Joe shrugged, "we don't have anything on Meinhoff that can remotely be construed as involving Methos. Our earliest 'record' of him is some hearsay that he might have murdered his lover and his first student after catching the two of them together in Madrid. But since we didn't have anyone on him back then, there's no corroboration."

The Watcher and the Scot were at Joe's computer in the back of the bar. Joe had been able to give Duncan the current location and recent history of Johann Meinhoff, but precious little that would shed light on his connection to Methos, or on the old immortal's subtle depth of concern. 

"Methos is holding something back, something significant," Duncan insisted. 

"That's not exactly a new thing for him," Joe reminded him. Duncan was about to say more, but an immortal presence caught his attention and raised his alertness. Hurrying back into the public room of the bar, he didn't relax any when he saw it was Kendall returning. 

"I thought you were going to follow him," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. 

"So did he," retorted Kendall. "He was waiting for me. Took me aside and read me the riot act about not letting me fight his battles and so forth. Sent me away like a wayward puppy." Shame and embarrassment coated his every word. He took his hand out of the pocket of his coat and brought it down in a fist hard on the bar. 

"All right, take it easy." Duncan really felt for the man. "There's still a chance we can do something to help." 

"Oh?" Kendall's tone suggested he thought he was being patronized and was in no mood for it. "How? Have a beer in his honor? Say a toast praising the invincibility of Adam Benjamin?" He lowered his voice quickly after realizing that Joe could clearly hear everything he was saying. 

Duncan moved closer, playing along with the illusion that Joe was ignorant of things immortal. "I've made a few calls. I've got Meinhoff's Paris address." 

Galvanized by this news, Kendall was suddenly energized. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" 

Duncan grabbed him by the arm. "We're going to _talk_ to him, Crane. That's all." 

Kendall smirked. "We'll communicate by any means necessary." 

Duncan smoldered. This guy could really be a hotheaded fool. "Crane, if M— if Adam really wanted Meinhoff dead, do you think it ever would have gotten this far?" Cursing his near slip on his friend's name, Duncan watched as Kendall's expression shifted from unbridled bravado to reluctant acceptance. 

"Okay, suppose you're right and Benj—Adam doesn't want to kill him? Clearly, Meinhoff doesn't return that sentiment." 

"We'll talk to Meinhoff, try to find out what this is really about. Then maybe we can convince him to back off. Maybe we can even help them work it out." Duncan almost rolled his own eyes when those words came out of his mouth. If the old man caught them interfering, he would certainly not be willing to sit down for an encounter-group session. 

Kendall was obviously thinking the same thing. "Adam was right. You really do fancy yourself some sort of Boy Scout." There was a touch of wonder in his voice, as though he'd just discovered that fairies really do exist. 

Duncan's eyes narrowed. When this was all over, he and Methos would be having a talk. 

"So we're clear on the fact that we're not going to challenge Meinhoff?" Kendall nodded with a sigh. "Okay. Let's go." 

As the two of them left the bar, Kendall asked, "Suppose Meinhoff _wants_ to do more than just talk to us, MacLeod?" 

Reaching into his coat for effect, Duncan cocked an eyebrow and said, "I believe in being prepared." 


	12. 12

****

Chapter 12 of 12

(_elle-nora'_)

Standing outside Meinhoff's building, Duncan and Kendall could both feel the other immortal... evidently looking down at them from a window. Duncan could see curtains pulled back slightly.

When Kendall began to cross the street, a set look to his jaw and a glare in his eyes... Duncan stopped him. "Wait... I think he may be coming down. He knows we are here. There's a cemetery just down the block... let's meet him there."

"There? Why?"

"So we can _talk_!" Duncan said through clenched teeth. This guy was really pushing for a confrontation that might not have to happen.

Reluctantly Kendall agreed. Ten minutes later Johann Meinhoff joined them at the edge of the small cemetery. "Yes? Where is the _good_ doctor?" His voice was laced with sarcasm.

Kendall sneered as he began to draw his sword. "If you think you can use me to get to him... you have another thing coming!"

Duncan grabbed the older immortal's arm. "Not here!" he reminded him. "We only want to talk," Duncan said calmly to Meinhoff. "Why do you want to challenge the doctor?"

Meinhoff laughed, "Has he not told you what he did to me? Has he not regaled you... his friends... with how he robbed me... framed me... ruined me? How he ran and keeps running?" Meinhoff's bitterness dripped from his words and burned in his eyes. "He is a thief, a murderer, a coward who hides behind others and now he will meet me... or I will do to him what he did to me!" The German's voice rose in accusation.

Duncan faced him squarely, "Perhaps if you explain..."

"You _will_ meet my challenge now!" Kendall drew his sword, pointed it at Meinhoff and then stomped off toward a nearby side street.

Meinhoff grinned. "Of course. Challenge made and challenge accepted." His eyes narrowed at Duncan's. "And _you_ cannot interfere! He killed my student... I will kill his!"

As he reached the alley, Kendall turned in a crouch, ready for this _youngster_ to pay. He obviously had no idea how old Kendall Crane was... nor how skilled. For once, his relative youth and innocent face might come in handy. But Kendall Crane had been well trained by one of the fiercest swordsmen he'd ever seen. He knew how to fight.

Meinhoff entered the alley, drawing his sword as he approached. His confidence was in his very manner. Duncan followed reluctantly behind.

"You do not _have_ to do this!" he bellowed, still trying to find a way to talk through this.

"But I do!" said Meinhoff. He raised his sword in an opening move as he and Kendall began circling... each trying to get a feel for the other.

The three immortals looked up as their senses were assaulted by the immediate arrival of a fourth.

"The challenge was to me." There was no anger... or any passion in Methos' face or voice. There was only a cold calculating demeanor.

Kendall shook his head, "No! It's my fault! I'll deal with this!"

Methos shook his head.

Meinhoff grinned, "You are all I have ever wanted."

"Then let us begin." Methos raised his broadsword, crouching slightly as he and Meinhoff began to circle.

Kendall tried to insert himself once more into the fight, only to be pulled back and slammed against the wall by Duncan. "Let them be... you know the rules."

"But it was my fight... my challenge!"

"No... it was and is theirs! Whatever happened... _they_ need to settle it!"

Kendall watched the opening feints and moves. There was an urgency and desperation to Meinhoff's slices. Adam was calmly... almost with a bored sense of movement... feinting and parrying them away. Obviously his teacher did not consider Meinhoff a real challenge. He nodded at Duncan and relaxed. "I won't interfere... But if this goes wrong for some reason... I _will_ finish it!"

Duncan released Kendall. The two immortals settled back to watch.

Methos spun, tripping Meinhoff so that the German stumbled as he lunged past him. Next Methos slammed the broadsword onto Meinhoff's back with force. Again Meinhoff stumbled... grasping his back. For a moment he was vulnerable as his defenses crumbled. Methos backed off. Duncan could still see that cold look on the elder immortal's face as he expertly swiveled his broadsword about in his right hand.

"_Is he playing with him?_" Duncan wondered.

Once Meinhoff had recovered enough to begin again, Methos attacked with a flurry of cuts and slices that caused the German to back up again and again until he tripped over some wooden crates stacked in the alley. As he landed in a heap, Methos once more backed up... waiting.

Meinhoff roared his anger as he stood once more and attacked his opponent with fury. Left... right... left... right... right again... Meinhoff slashed again and again... but his strokes were met only by Methos' sword. For every move Meinhoff made... Methos' defensive moves were an elaborate shield against them.

Meinhoff backed off breathing heavily. Methos gazed at him evenly. Duncan could see there was still no passion in the ancient immortal's face... but there was sadness.

Once more Meinhoff attacked! This time Methos slashed him suddenly across the chest so that the German fell... mortally wounded. He gurgled as he coughed blood. Methos once more backed away... apparently waiting for Meinhoff to recover once more.

"Why do you not finish it?" screamed Kendall.

Methos spared him only a momentary glance... all his concentration still on Meinhoff. When Meinhoff, using his sword to assist his rising once more, had reclaimed his feet, Methos attacked. With a single move he brought an exhausted Meinhoff to his knees once more. Blood dripped from a number of healing wounds. Meinhoff was hopelessly outmatched. Again Methos backed away.

Meinhoff glared up at him. "Stop playing around!"

"Are you so ready to die Meinhoff? Is it your death you want?"

"Finish it!" the German screamed, tossing his sword away.

Methos leaned in close to him. Calmly he whispered. "I cannot undo what happened. I do regret it... but it is over. I learned centuries ago that guilt is an emotion we cannot allow ourselves. If we do... then we are vulnerable... and we die. Is it death you really want? Are you angry that Isabela loved me and preferred me to you? Or is it guilt that you goaded your student into feeling he had to challenge me to win your approval? Is it guilt you feel in that you allowed your student to die in your place? Get over it... life... even our lives are too short to spend them wallowing in self-pity. Get over it and move on... or die. "

Methos kicked Meinhoff's sword into the air deftly catching it. He tossed it toward Meinhoff. "It is your choice!"

"Now I have a choice? What choice did you leave me? You killed them! I was blamed! I spent years in prison! I lost them because of you!"

Duncan saw a shadow cross Methos' face.

"Did I encourage Isabela's infatuation with me to get back at you for your jealousy and actions? Yes! Do I regret Lorenzo's death? Yes... every day since then I have vowed never again to let my emotions rule my actions! I _am_ sorry Meinhoff! But I do not feel guilt! You cannot make me! What was done happened because I reacted to the moment. If I had it to do over... I would have found another way... but you were not there. Your student refused to stand down... and Isabela got in the way. It's over... move on. Let them rest in peace!"

Meinhoff grasped his sword and struggled to his feet. "I cannot beat you now... but I will!"

Methos turned and shoved the man against the wall, his sword at Meinhoff's throat. "Either let this go or I _will_ kill you. This has to end, Meinhoff. Let your anger and desire for vengeance go... You cannot build on vengeance and hate. They are empty emotions that rob us of our lives. I have been there. I have stood where you are standing and I know this. Take the chance I give you and walk away. Walk away and leave me alone. But I tell you this... follow me again... trouble me or my friends ever again... I _will_ kill you. I will mourn your death... but I will not feel guilty."

Methos pulled back, pivoting sharply as he hid his broadsword once more in his coat and walked away.

Meinhoff breathed heavily. He was healing... but he was still drained and exhausted. The German glanced at Kendall and Duncan.

Duncan gave him a nod as he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and followed Methos from the alley.

Kendall glared at the German. Then he, too, followed the others out of the alley.

Behind them, Johann Meinhoff dropped to his knees and sobbed in the sudden release of pent-up emotions. He wept for love lost, friends' deaths, and the emptiness of the last two hundred years of his life. Only one thing had kept him going through these centuries... killing the man who had destroyed his life... now even that was gone. Meinhoff had nothing... unless he found a way to build a life without hate. Slowly he regained his feet to return to his rooms. He had a lot to think over.

***

The next day Methos, bag of beer in hand, whistled as he climbed the gangplank to Duncan's barge. He owed the Highlander some answers... perhaps he could give the beer as a peace offering instead. Methos paused. Already he could sense that someone else was here as well. Methos groaned. It had to be Kendall.

Entering MacLeod's living quarters he stared warily at the two immortals... sitting side by side on the sofa... drinking scotch and laughing.

"So just what have you two been up to?" Methos asked hesitantly, not certain if he really wanted to know.

"Comparing notes," Duncan said with a grin.

"Notes?" Methos shifted the beer in his arms. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"Notes!" Kendall grinned, arching his eyebrows in amusement. "I was filling MacLeod in on some of our more colorful escapades a few centuries ago."

Methos groaned.

"Boy scout!" smiled Duncan.

"Albatross!" agreed Kendall.

Methos felt like tossing the beer into the air and leaving. But wasted beer was not an option he cared for. Besides... surely he could handle these two... surely he could keep them off-balance. He was the master of obfuscation, the doctor of misdirection, the champion of the misleading comeback! Already he began to plan the confusing web of replies with which he could dazzle them and keep them from really knowing anything. He set the bag down, pulled out a bottle, opened it and settled across from them. "So guys... do we have dinner plans or are we just drinking this evening?"

*30*


End file.
